


We Three Together

by Baylor



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Baby Hobbits, Gen, Kid Fic, post-LOTR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 17:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baylor/pseuds/Baylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faramir Took, Goldilocks Gamgee and Hamfast Gamgee grow up hearing of their fathers' adventures and wishing for the day when they will have their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Faramir the Great & Magnificent

Faramir, age 9 

When I was a very little lad, my father would grab me up in his arms and call to his cousin, "Here, Merry, catch this!" Then he would swing me high in the air and toss me into Cousin Merry's waiting arms. I would shriek and pretend I was afraid I was going to fall, but I knew they would never drop me, and it was my favorite game in all the world. 

I am bigger now, too big to be tossed about, but just last winter, my father let me ride on his back when it snowed very deep in Tuckborough, and as he walked he told me about trying to cross a mountain in a blizzarding snowstorm and how Lord Boromir carried him on his back when the snow was too deep. Father was great friends with Lord Boromir, but he died, and I am named for his brother. 

Father doesn't tell very many stories about Boromir, just a few about him teaching Father and Cousin Merry to swordfight, but I know that he was killed because he was protecting Father and Cousin Merry. Frodo Gamgee told me this, and his father has told him almost everything that ever happened during the Great Years. I think that Lord Boromir must have loved Father very much to die trying to help him. 

But Father has lots of other stories to tell. My favorite is about Treebeard and the Ents, which are sort of like talking trees. Everywhere we go, I look for the Entwives, but I haven't seen any yet, not even when Father took me way away to the North Farthing with him. 

I also like all the stories about Cousin Bilbo, especially the one about the trolls that almost ate him and the dwarves, but Gandalf the Wizard saved them. Father does not tell many stories about Gandalf, either, even though Frodo says they traveled far together. Once I asked Cousin Merry why after Father told me he didn't have any more stories about Gandalf that he would tell me. Cousin Merry said Father misses Gandalf is all, because they traveled alone together a long way, and were together at the Siege of Gondor. Then he said those stories aren't any good for hobbit lads and lasses, anyway, as they are too scary for even grown-up hobbits. I never think about my father being scared of anything, but when I said that Cousin Merry laughed and said Father has been plenty scared in his lifetime. 

I am always looking for adventures of my own, but they are hard to find in the Shire. I know that Father and Mayor Gamgee and Cousin Frodo once met Elves in the Green Hill Country, but I have never seen any when I ride through there with Father to Buckland. I asked Father if Elves ever come to the Shire anymore, and he said he had not seen any here since I was a baby. But at least that means they have still been here since the Great Years, because Mayor Gamgee says many of the Elves left then forever. 

I also have tried to spy Tom Bombadil or Goldberry in the Old Forest, but it is difficult when one is just trying to peek through the cracks in the Brandybucks' gate. I snuck into the Old Forest last summer during Buckland's great Litheday festival, and Goldilocks Gamgee kept watch, but wouldn't you know that her brother Hamfast got scared and told on us, so Cousin Berilac nabbed me before I was more than 10 feet in. Father spanked me for it, which he doesn't do very often, but later when I was supposed to be asleep, I heard Cousin Merry laughing, and he said, "We always knew you would get yours someday, Pippin. That apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I think he meant that Father got into lots of trouble when he was a lad. 

Goldilocks and I are going to go off on a great adventure as soon as we are old enough to travel to overnight places by ourselves. She says we can handle anything that comes up, because most of our relatives have come across every type of danger there is, and we know from their stories what to do about it. We would certainly never leave the Road in Mirkwood, and we would stay away from trolls at night, and we would never fall asleep in the Old Forest. And we will go to Fangorn and drink Entdraughts with Treebeard so that I will be as tall as Father. Goldilocks said she hopes her hair doesn't grow more from the Entdraught, because there really is a lot of it right now. This autumn she got caught by her hair in a bramble bush when we were hiding in her grandfather's fields and I had to cut a hunk out with my knife before she could get loose. Goldilocks is my best friend, but her hair can get in the way. 

Father says he will take me traveling as soon as I am old enough, and we will go to Bree and Rivendell, and someday to Gondor, and I will see the High King again. He came to the Brandywine Bridge three years ago, and picked me right up, even though I was getting too old for that. Father says someday we will go to the White City, and he will show me where he stood on the wall and watched Gandalf save the Lord Faramir. Mamma's face gets all pinched when Father talks about traveling, but she doesn't say anything. 

I don't tell Father, and Gondor would be splendid and all, but I would rather go to the Lonely Mountain and Long Lake and see the dwarves and the elves. I have only ever met one elf, and I was very little and barely remember him, but he sang me a song that I still remember all the words to. Dwarves come through the Shire a bit, so I have seen them, and I love the way they tramp and their deep voices when they sing. Every year on Cousin Bilbo's birthday, special toys from the Lonely Mountain come to Bag End, and Father and Cousin Merry and I go visit for birthday dinner. Cousin Bilbo went away long ago, of course, before I was born, even before Father and Mamma were married, but Mayor Gamgee says we will always have birthday dinner for him and Cousin Frodo, whose birthday is the same day, but he left the Shire before I was born, too. 

After dinner, Goldilocks and I go outside and sit on the Hill and look up at the stars and the moon and make plans for when we will go on our adventure. If he's being good and not crying, we let Hamfast come with us. We shall be the most famous hobbits that ever lived, and they will call me Faramir the Great and Magnificent. 

Goldilocks' brothers Merry and Pippin say we are silly and will never go further than Bree, and only that far if we are lucky, but Frodo says, "Don't listen to them! Maybe you will go further than any hobbits have gone before." 

I think he is right.


	2. Goldilocks the Fair & Unkempt

Goldilocks, age 11 

It would not be so bad, being a lass, if I didn’t have quite so many sisters. Or at least if more of them were not so, well, clean . When I am with my brothers and our friend Faramir Took, I never worry about dirtying my dress or tangling my curls, or what a lass should and should not do, but then one of my sisters will come along, and I don’t bear up to the comparison. 

It snowed at Yule, during the big party we had at Bag End, and how could I not want to go outside and play in it? Then Merry threw that snowball right at Hamfast and hit him smack in the face, so what could I do but tackle him and hold his face in the snow bank? Then Pippin grabbed me by the waist and dragged me back off of Merry, but I wasn’t standing for that so I threw myself backwards as hard as I could and Pippin and I flipped right over into the other snow bank. 

At any rate, I lost all but one of my pretty new velvet hair ribbons, and I tore a button off my cloak, and somehow that beautiful blue dress that Rose-lass looked so pretty in a few years ago got soaking wet and muddy and the hem ripped -- well, Mummie cleaned enough of it to make a little dress for baby Robin.

When I came inside, Daisy’s hair ribbons were all perfectly in place, and Primrose’s dress wasn’t even wrinkled, and Rose-lass had all her buttons, and Elanor was the most beautiful lass in the room. 

I wouldn’t talk to any of them all night, the silly, prissy things, and turned my face to the wall when I got into bed. My Ruby came and cuddled up to me though -- she never looks horrified when I come into a room, and she never scolds (never you mind that she can’t ), and she isn’t afraid of a little dirt or water or tussle, either. Some days, I would trade all the rest of them for a few more Roos. 

The lads don’t mind if I’m not tidy, though, and by now they sure know better than to tell me I can’t do something because I’m a lass. I can run as fast as Merry, and throw as sure as Pippin, and climb as well as Faramir, and do just about anything better than Hamfast. I am not quite so good at conkers as Frodo, but he has been playing much longer than I, so he doesn’t really count. 

I haven’t told anyone but Faramir yet, but when I am old enough, I am going to play roopie, you just see if I don’t. I can throw and kick and run and dodge, and Dad says he can’t believe he has a child who thinks so fast on her feet. If all that won’t make me a good roopie player, then I don’t know what will. I am not so big for my age, but then neither is Faramir, and his father is already practicing with him a bit. Faramir thinks it is splendid that I will play roopie, and has promised to show me what his father teaches him, so that I will not be behind when we are old enough to play. I would ask Merry or Pippin to help me learn, but they are not always entirely trustworthy. Frodo is, but he also does not like to do anything behind Dad’s back, and I don’t quite dare bring it up to Dad and Mummie yet. 

I don’t think they mind so much, though, Dad and Mum, that I am not so proper all the time. When Dad travels to Buckland or Tookland, he most always takes me, and not one of the other lasses. I’ve been on walking trips, too, and Dad taught me how to start a fire, and catch a fish, and set a snare. And when that oaf Dory Sandyman hit Hamfast in the head with a fishing pail and I grabbed it away and then hit him right in his ugly face with it, Dad did make me stay home from the Fair, even though I was supposed to go, but then he said, “Hitting isn’t the best way to solve something, but you don’t let no one hurt the ones you love, Goldilocks. You’re right about that.” 

I don’t know how Hamfast would make it through the world without me around, honestly. He almost fell off the back of the cart on the way to market when he was just little but I grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him back up (though he was almost as big as me, even back then) and let him blather all over me. Least, that’s the way Elanor tells it. He is such a crybaby sometimes that it makes me angry, and I stamp my foot and say we’ll leave him behind if he doesn’t stop it, but I’d never really leave Hamfast behind. He’s scared to be by himself, and anyway, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get lost in Bag End, his sense of direction is so poor. We’d never see him again if I didn’t keep track of him. 

Mummie likes that I look out for Hamfast, and mostly I think she doesn’t mind if I run wild (which is what Rose-lass calls it), but sometimes she covers her face with her hands when I come inside, or when she hears what I’ve done. “Goldilocks, love,” she’ll say, “I don’t know if you’ll be the death or the best of us all. Now get in the bath!” 

Faramir’s father doesn’t mind one bit when I tear my dress or get dirty, and he gave me a slingshot as a birthday present several years ago and taught me to shoot it. I told him once that I want a real sword someday, and he said the Valar should save the lads of the Shire, but I promised him that I would only use it on monsters and other unnatural creatures, so he said that was all right, then. Someone has to protect us all. 

Mr. Pippin says it is in the Gamgee blood, protecting other living things, whether they are trees and vegetables and flowers or other hobbits. I just want to make sure I’m ready.


	3. Hamfast the Not-So-Stouthearted

Hamfast, age 8 

I am not a scaredy-cat, no matter what Goldilocks and Merry and Pippin say. Faramir believes me, you just go ask him. 

None of rest of them really understand about the terrible things that are out in the world because they don’t listen to the stories like I do. They only hear about elves and dwarves and kings. I hear about giant spiders and wargs and evil trees and bad Men, and things that used to be hobbits but have turned into something worse than anything because they were us once. 

You have to be careful of those awful things, or they will get you, and then maybe you will be something bad and sad and horrible someday too. Goldilocks says don’t be silly! We have learned from our parents, and we know how to stay out of trouble. But Goldilocks sure is in trouble an awful lot, so I’m not sure I believe her. 

So maybe I am not so brave as Goldilocks and Faramir, because even when I do the same things they do, I know I’m lots more scared. But Frodo says sometimes brave just means stupid (though I think he was talking about Merry and Pippin here) and usually when we are afraid it is for a good reason. The trick, he said, is to know when there is a good reason and when we are just imaging things. I haven’t figured the trick out yet, but I am still not very big. Frodo never laughs at me or turns me away when it’s too scary at night and I want to crawl into bed with him. There are funny noises in the dark at night, and I can hear tree branches tapping on the window as if they are trying to get in, and hooves on the road that really might be something bad coming, and things that sound like dogs but just might be wargs. But it is safer in Frodo’s room, even though he is all alone in there and I share with Merry and Pippin and Bilbo. Frodo’s room is on the Hill side, and there are no windows, and you can’t hear funny noises, and the door is big and heavy and nothing would get through it. Also, Frodo is there, and he is too big to let me get caught by bad things. 

Frodo knows I just like to hear the good parts of the stories, and he tells them all better than anyone except Dad. I like to hear about Goldberry and Tom Bombadil, and about Beorn and all the good things Mr. Bilbo had to eat at his house, but I don’t like to hear about Old Man Willow, or Barrow-wights or Mirkwood. Frodo has all kinds of funny stories about Bill the Pony, who was Dad’s very own pony for years and years, and the adventures he got into traveling through the Wild back to Bree all on his own. Frodo knows how to make them not-too-scary, though, but even if they were scary, it would not be so bad, because they are made-up. It is the not-pretend scary things that are the worst. 

Mr. Merry sat me on his lap once when I was little, and the story about Mr. Bilbo and the trolls had made me cry I was so scared. “Hamfast,” he said, “you know that we have a king now, and while no one can make all the evil in the world go away, he has driven away much of it, and Middle-earth is a safer place. And you know that even the evil things that still exist are far away from the Shire and Bag End and will never find their way to you.” 

I could not tell him that I am not afraid the bad things will come to Bag End (except sometimes at night when there are strange noises) but that I will have to go to the bad things someday. That is what happened to Dad -- he did not want to go on any adventures, but he had to, for Mr. Frodo. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin did not want to go with Mr. Frodo to destroy the Ring either, but they had to, because they loved him, although Elanor says Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin would have been adventurers no matter what. 

I am afraid that is the same for Faramir and Goldilocks. They will be adventurers no matter what, and I will have to go with them, because I love them. I am not always much use when we are doing adventurous things, but then Dad didn’t think he was much use to Mr. Frodo either, and Mr. Merry says that there would be nothing but evil things in the world now if Dad had not gone with Mr. Frodo. 

Faramir’s horrid cousin Aggie jumped out of a cupboard at me last year in the middle of the night when I was staying at the Great Smials and I was so scared that I cried until Mr. Pippin gave me some tea, and then I was very sleepy. Mr. Pippin rocked me and I felt oh-so-safe, and then he asked what I was so afraid of, anyway, and I told him my big secret, that what I am most afraid of is that I won’t be brave enough when I really need to be. Mr. Pippin was quiet for a long time, and then he said, “But I know you will be, Hamfast. You are a hobbit, and sometimes it takes something tremendous for courage to wake up in a hobbit. But it’s there, in all of us. You just wait and see.” 

I sure hope Mr. Pippin knows what he’s talking about. He is the Thain and all, but Mummie says to take everything he says with a grain of salt, which means that sometimes what really happened might not be as grand as what Mr. Pippin says about it. But it doesn’t seem like this is the type of thing Mummie meant when she said that. 

I am trying to be braver, though. I went on a boat on the Brandywine River this summer, and that wasn’t so bad once I got used to it. I climb trees with Faramir, and I even slept outside at night on a walking trip with him and Mr. Pippin. And when Bilbo woke up crying in the middle of the night and said there was a monster under the bed, I leaned way over and looked underneath, and it was just one of the cats. And I’ll follow Faramir and Goldilocks anywhere they go, no matter how far away. 

Dad says old Mr. Bilbo used to say it was a dangerous business, going out of your door, and that if you didn’t keep your feet, there was no knowing where you might be swept off to. Since Faramir and Goldilocks are always looking for trouble (that’s what Mummie says) I guess it will sweep us right into a heap of it. 

I sure hope Mr. Pippin knows what he’s talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam is quoting Frodo quoting Bilbo at the end. In “The Fellowship of the Ring,” the chapter “Three is Company,” Frodo says, “’It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,’ (Bilbo) used to say. ‘You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.’”


	4. We Three Together

“Do you think,” Goldilocks asked, squinting into the falling dusk, “that the Entwives are real? Really real?” 

“Of course I do,” Faramir answered, turning to give her an exasperated look. “Treebeard told Father all about them, after all, didn’t he?” 

“Well,” Goldilocks said, “Treebeard told your father about something that happened long long ago, and your father told us about Treebeard telling him, which was a long time ago itself, and sometimes things get changed around in stories, is all.” 

Faramir scowled at her. “Father would never tell us something that isn’t true,” he said stoutly. 

“Your father told us that it was the troll in the cellar at Bag End who left those beer mugs in the kitchen at Dad’s birthday party, and ate the leftover cake, and knocked over the umbrella stand in the hallway,” Goldilocks said sensibly. 

“Oh, well, that,” Faramir said dismissively, turning back around. “That’s different.” 

Goldilocks sighed, and shifted position on her tree branch. “I just think we might be out here a long time, and still not see an Entwife,” she said, squinting into the twilight stretching out over the Green Hill Country. “And it’s past suppertime.” 

“Just a bit longer,” Faramir said softly, and watched with hopeful eyes. 

***

“Maybe Mummie won’t notice,” Goldilocks said hopefully, but Faramir and Hamfast exchanged a quick look and then shook their heads ruefully at her. 

“No?” Goldilocks asked. “I can’t look that bad!” 

The lads nodded their heads at her in unison and Goldilocks tentatively prodded at the swollen eye. “It’s not my fault, you know,” she huffed. “Stupid Mat Bolger with his big fat mouth. He’s just lucky I tripped before I could catch him.” 

Faramir rolled his eyes -- Mat easily weighed half over Goldilocks. Then he jumped excitedly as an idea struck him. “Oh, wait here!” he cried and bolted out of the shed. He returned 10 minutes later, out of breath and flushed, with a big, floppy, flower-bedecked hat in his grubby hands. 

“It’s Auntie Pervinca’s,” he said, holding it out. “Go on, no one will see your face with this on.” 

“Is that the Gamgee lass?” Iris Took asked Pervinca at supper. “Wearing one of your hats, I believe.” 

Pervinca narrowed her eyes as she looked over at the children’s table, then sighed. “Well, at least she’s finally taking interest in her appearance,” she said to Iris. “It’s nice to see her in something fashionable, even if it doesn’t fit.” 

***

“Go on, Hammie,” Faramir urged. “It’s more scared of you than you are of it.” 

Hamfast doubted that, but he drew in a fortifying breath of air and reached out his hand. 

SNAP! 

He was too shocked to scream, really, and just stood there, the turtle hanging from his index finger by its strong, curved beak. Faramir and Goldilocks were wide-eyed and open-mouthed in a combination of awe, horror and delight. Then Hamfast found his voice and let out a yell, followed by much frantic shaking of his arm and shrieks of, “Get it off me!” 

“Oh, stop, Hammie, you’ll hurt it!” Faramir cried, to which Hamfast hollered, “I’ll hurt it ? It’s hurting me ! Get it off!” 

Goldilocks stepped forward and grabbed the turtle by its shell, effectively ending Hamfast’s desperate bid for release. “You let him go!” she said firmly to the turtle, and Faramir began to laugh. 

“I don’t think you can tell a turtle what to do, Goldilocks,” he giggled, but apparently she could, because it released its jaw and popped its head back into its shell. Faramir stopped laughing and looked sufficiently impressed by the power of Goldilocks’ command.

“There,” she said in satisfaction, and waded into the stream to set the turtle down on a rock. “We’re sorry, turtle.” She waded back to shore and put her hands on her hips when she saw Hamfast’s trembling lower lip. “Hamfast Gamgee, don’t you dare cry,” she said. “We still have lots to do today, and we don’t have time for you to be a baby. Look, you’re not even hurt,” and she grabbed his finger and shoved it in front of his eyes. It was red and marked from the turtle’s beak, but the skin was not broken. 

Hamfast sniffled in a small show of defiance. “You’re catching the frog then,” he said sullenly. 

“All right,” Goldilocks said cheerily, and waded back out. 

***

“Tell us about Gandalf’s fireworks,” Hamfast pleaded. 

“No, tell us about Bard and his black arrow that slew Smaug and saved Laketown!” Goldilocks demanded, jumping to her feet on the bed in excitement. 

“Tell us about how you saved Gimli from drowning in the pond!” Faramir added to the chorus. 

Pippin rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I can’t tell all of those!” he said. “It will be morning and time to get up if I sit here and tell all those.” 

“That’s all right, Father,” Faramir said, settling himself onto his pillows. “We will listen for as long as it takes.” 

***

“Briony,” Goldilocks whispered, and peered boldly into the old nurse’s face. Briony slitted an eye open. 

“Young lass,” she said sternly, “can you not tell when an old hobbit is napping?” 

“Briony, we’ve brought you a wonderful thing!” Faramir exclaimed. 

“Oh, well, that’s a different tale, isn’t it?” Briony said, opening both her eyes and setting her mending aside. “Let’s see it, then.” 

Faramir presented a small, smooth stone with a hole directly in the center of it. “It’s a fairy-stone!” Hamfast piped up, excitement overcoming his usual reticence. 

“Oh, yes, that it is,” Briony said in all seriousness. She rubbed gnarled fingers over the smooth surface, turning it around in her hand. 

“It will show you things that are true if you look through it,” Faramir said eagerly, leaning against the side of her rocking chair. “Do you like it?” 

“Oh, I know what it will do,” Briony said crisply, “and it is a right marvelous gift. Thank you, my lambs.” She held it up and peered through the hole at the three young faces beaming up at her. 

“What did you see?” Goldilocks asked as Briony lowered the stone. 

“You three together,” the nurse said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter shamelessly steals from two other authors, with their kind permission. The troll first appeared in the cellar at Bag End in Shirebound’s [Quarantined](http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=93), and I learned of fairy-stones in Budgielover’s [Recovery in Rivendell](http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterlistview.asp?SID=252).


	5. Shelob's Bane

1440 SR, Bag End

Merry had dared Goldilocks, which was always certain to guarantee she would take the bait. Just to make the dare more tempting, he added that both he and Pippin had already done it. 

“We sneaked in last year and held it,” he boasted. “We weren’t scared, like you are.” 

“I’m not scared!” Goldilocks declared, and stomped her foot. “I’m going to do it right now.” 

But now that it had come to it, she was scared, after all. They had sneaked into Dad’s study, and she had opened the chest, but now stood frozen above it, her hands poised to grab the prize, but not quite able to make herself reach in. 

“See, I told you she wouldn’t do it,” Pippin said to Merry behind her back, and suddenly Goldilocks’ hands fastened about the hilt, and she lifted the blade. 

The lads fell silent, and all three of the children looked at it in awe. “It’s heavy,” Goldilocks gulped. 

“I know,” Merry said, his voice almost a whisper. “It’s splendid, isn’t it?’ 

Goldilocks nodded, impressed. She wanted to swing it about a bit, but it seemed too heavy for her tiny hands to manage such a feat so she thought she had better not. Just holding it made her want to hunt dragons and giant spiders. 

Just then the study door opened and Faramir came tearing in, Hamfast at his heels. Goldilocks jumped, and nearly dropped the blade, but managed to maintain her grip. 

“Goldilocks!” Faramir cried. “You know you mustn’t!” 

“Hammie, you little tattletale!” Goldilocks snapped, turning narrowed eyes on her brother. 

“You only didn’t want me to know because you knew I’d say it was wrong of you!” Faramir came back. “Now put it away!” and he reached out for the blade. He and Goldilocks scowled at each other in soundless confrontation for several moments, but then Faramir stepped closer to her, his eyes flashing, and she grudgingly turned it over. Once it was in Faramir’s hands, though, he hesitated, feeling its weight and power. 

“See?” Goldilocks said smugly, brushing bothersome locks out of her face. “Now you want to play with it too.” 

“Children,” said a quiet voice in the doorway, and all five of them turned, horrorstricken. “Dad!” four voices cried, while a fifth squeaked, “Mayor Gamgee!” 

Sam stood in the doorway of the study at Bag End and studied the young, terrified faces in front of him. Finally, he walked over to Faramir and held out his hands. 

“Give that here, Faramir-lad,” he said quietly, and Faramir gently gave it over, his own hands trembling. 

Sam stood looking at the blade a long time, not seeming to take any notice of the frightened children. Finally, he sighed deeply and sat down. 

“Perhaps this is my fault,” he said. “I have not taught you as I should have. I have not told you proper how I came to own this.” 

Hesitantly, the children circled ‘round him. Sam finally looked up at the uncertain faces. 

“Do you know what this is?” he asked sternly. 

“It’s Sting, sir,” Merry said promptly. “It’s your sword.” 

“And it was Cousin Frodo’s,” Faramir added. “And Cousin Bilbo’s before that.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Sam said. “Mr. Bilbo gave it to Mr. Frodo as a gift when we left Rivendell. Mr. Frodo gave it to me as a gift, later, but that is not how I first came by it.” 

“After you killed Shelob with it,” Goldilocks provided. 

“I don’t know that I killed her, Goldilocks,” Sam said, “though I did manage to drive her off. But I want you to think of what I saw the first time I took this sword in my own hand. It was Mr. Frodo, bound up by her foul ropes, and her already dragging him away, like a spider in the garden does to a tiny fly she plans to feast upon. And there was Sting, lying on the ground, and I picked it up without thought or leave, because I could not let her have him. Have you thought about that, children, when you’ve heard the story? Merry-lad, if it was your Pippin you came across, bound and helpless, or one of you three, finding another like that?” 

The children were silent, suddenly chilled and frightened. Sam had never spoken to them thus, never asked them to entertain such thoughts, and they were sharply aware of the seriousness of his words. Suddenly the story was no longer just a story. 

“It weren’t bravery, me taking up this arm,” Sam said. “If I’d’ve thought about it, I suppose I would have run screaming away, because nothing you can imagine is more like a nightmare as that creature was. But I did not think about it, and that is a blessing, because then I was able to drive her off, me and the power of the Lady Galadriel. But it was for naught, or so I thought.” 

“Because you thought Mr. Frodo was dead,” Hamfast whispered. He was clinging to Faramir, and the older lad put an arm about his shoulder. 

“But he wasn’t, Hammie,” Faramir said firmly. 

“No, but I thought he was, I surely did,” Sam said sadly, “and no blacker moment have I ever known. I hope none of you children ever feel even the littlest bit as I did that day. And then I felt even worse, because I realized what I must do, that I must go on without him. 

“And so I took Sting as my own. I gave him my own sword, though it was the lesser, and it tore at me to do so, but if I was to finish the quest, and get into Mordor, to the fiery mountain alone, I reckoned I would need it. And that’s what I told him. ‘If I’m to go on, then I must take your sword, by your leave, Mr. Frodo,’ but of course, he could not give me leave. So I took up his sword, and I took up his Burden, and I took up his Light, and I left him behind, because I thought it was the right thing to do.” 

“But you went back,” Goldilocks said. “You went back and saved him from the orcs. You didn’t leave him, after all.” 

Sam laughed softly and sadly. “No, I could not leave him after all,” he agreed. “And I saved him from the Tower, and if you ask me, it was by the grace of Elbereth herself. And later, after we escaped from the orc-company, Mr. Frodo asked me to carry the Light for a bit longer, as he had no where to keep it, and said, ‘But Sting I give to you.’ I tried to give it back, and he wore it at least for the feast at Cormallen because I asked him to, though he said he wished for no sword. He threw off his weapon near the foot of Mount Doom, and said he would not bear one, ever again, fair or foul.” 

The children were scarcely breathing now. Sam had never spoken of these events in such a manner to them before. He had always made his travels sound like a grand adventure when he spoke of them, and talked about elves in Lórien and the High King newly crowned and the blowing of horns and the singing of songs. 

“Once more he gave it to me, though he did not name it of itself, when I traveled with him for the last time, and he said to me that I was his heir, and all that he had and might have had he left to me. 

“So, I took it first without asking leave, and second asking leave but not having it, and third by his bidding, and fourth by his love,” Sam said, cradling the sword carefully in his palms. “But never have I held this blade without need or cause, nor would I have any of you children ever do so. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Dad,” and “Yes, Mayor Gamgee,” they chorused solemnly. 

“Good,” Sam said with a sigh. “Now, who got this out?” 

“I did, sir,” Goldilocks confessed. 

“All right,” Sam offered out the sword, “put it back proper.” 

Goldilocks took Sting from her father’s hands as carefully as she would have a baby sibling. It still felt heavy in her hands, but as she set it in the chest and covered it with its velvet wraps, she thought that its weight might be that of her father’s love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam quotes himself directly from “The Two Towers,” from the chapter “The Choices of Master Samwise.” He quotes Frodo directly from “The Return of the King,” from the chapter “The Land of Shadow,” and indirectly from “The Grey Havens,” in the same book.


	6. Sea of Stars

Faramir, age 8 

The journey through the Wild had been long and difficult, but now at last we neared the ancient home of Elrond Half-Elven. I gripped my weapon tightly, hoping we could find the secret path before we encountered any trolls. 

“Faramir, wait!” Goldilocks whispered in my ear. “I hear something coming!” 

“I hear it too!” Hamfast squeaked, and promptly dropped his weapon. “It’s big!” He clung to Goldilocks’ skirt. 

Now I could hear it, something large and terrifying creeping through the fallen leaves. “Don’t worry, Hammie,” I assured him, “we’ll protect you.” My heart pounding, I stepped forward, weapon in front of me. “Who goes there?” I yelled into the forest. 

“Grrrh-wahhh!” An enormous figure sprang from the brush and rushed toward us. I sliced at it with my sword, but that just seemed to make it more angry, and the next thing I knew, it had picked Goldilocks up and was swinging her around! 

“You put her down!” I yelled, and whacked its legs with my sword again, but it was already too late for poor Goldilocks. 

“No, no, no, Mr. Merry, please!” she shrieked. “No more tickling, please!” And then she was laughing too hard to speak. 

“No more tickling?” Cousin Merry teased. “But I thought you were looking for danger and adventure.” But he set her down gently, and then yanked my stick out of my hands, a bit less gently. 

“Faramir,” he said quite sternly, “what have you been told about hitting people, even with pretend swords?” 

“You’ve scared Hamfast,” I said to him, though I knew it was backtalk. But I was right, and I pointed at Hammie to prove it. He was hiding behind a tree with his hands over his eyes. 

“I’m not scared!” Hamfast said shrilly, but he stayed hiding. 

“Oh, Hammie-lad,” Cousin Merry said sympathetically, and picked him up in a big hug. “I’m sorry. Come on, it’s time for you children to go in anyway. We’ll have you tucked safe in your bed in no time, Hamfast.” 

Goldilocks and I groaned. “It can’t be bedtime!” she declared. 

“Well, you may not think so, but your mother says it is. Come on,” and he began leading us from the grove of trees behind Bag End back to the smial, carrying Hamfast, “Periadoc and Éowyn are already in bed.” 

“Periadoc and Éowyn are babies,” I pointed out, but I followed him anyway. As we came up the Hill, I saw Father sitting atop, smoking his pipe. “I want to talk to Father, please,” I announced, and looked hopefully at Cousin Merry. 

“All right,” he said with a sigh. I could tell Goldilocks wanted to come with me, and so could Cousin Merry, because he said, “Oh, no, not you, my lass. Rose-Mum said bed.” 

I waved at them as they went to the kitchen door and then I ran up the Hill and tossed myself into the grass by Father. “Back from Rivendell already?” he asked. 

“The Tickle Troll made us come back, for Mrs. Gamgee said it’s bedtime,” I answered, then laid my head on his outstretched legs and asked, “But can I stay out here with you for a bit?” 

“Hmm,” Father said, but I could tell he was too comfortable and full and content to argue about it. “For a bit,” he answered, and reached down to smooth my curls. 

It was Cousin Frodo and Cousin Bilbo’s birthday, and we had had a glorious party at Bag End earlier. The Gamgees always throw a party on this day, and it is just for them and some of us Tooks and Cousins Merry and Estella and sometimes Cousins Fredegar and Maisie. The cake had been very good, and even though it was not his own birthday, Mayor Gamgee had little gifts for us children, which he said he was giving to us since Cousin Frodo was away. 

My gift was several nice new marbles, and they had been Cousin Frodo’s when he was a lad. I pulled one out of my pocket and held it up to look at it. It blocked out the stars that were beginning to appear when I squinted at it. I put it away and turned so I could look the same way Father was looking. 

“Which one is Eärendil, Father?” I asked. 

“Which one do you think it is?” he answered, and I pointed. “That’s right,” Father said. 

“I do not understand how a Man can sail a ship in the sky, even if he is Lord Elrond’s father,” I said, and Father chuckled. 

“Maybe we are not meant to understand all things,” he said. 

“I don’t see why not,” I grumbled. “I should like to.” I pulled another marble out and held it up and squinted so that Eärendil twinkled against its smooth surface. “It is nice of Mayor Gamgee to give presents out for Cousin Frodo,” I said. “I imagine Cousin Frodo gave splendid gifts, didn’t he, Father?” 

“He did, indeed,” Father said softly. 

“Do you think he has birthday parties over the Sea?” I asked. I hoped so. I wouldn’t want to live any place that didn’t have birthday parties. 

“Oh, certainly,” Father said. “Gandalf is there too, remember, and he will make certain of it. He loved a good birthday party.” 

“With fireworks!” I said. “The most glorious anyone has ever seen!” 

“Wouldn’t be a proper party without them,” Father said. “And you know that the Elves bake the most delicious cakes.” 

“And singing and dancing,” I said. “They’d had lots of that, the Elves would. I should think it was a very good birthday.” 

“I’m certain it was,” Father said, and stroked my hair again. 

I yawned and curled up a little against his legs. “I should like to see the Sea someday. Tell me again what it’s like,” I requested. 

“Oh,” Father sighed, “it’s like nothing else. I had always thought it would be like a big lake, but it wasn’t. It’s the smell of it -- you know right off that it’s alive and moving and changing and ancient. It’s beautiful, but there is something sad about it.” 

“The Yellowskin says Isengar went off to sea,” I said. “I wonder what happened to him. Do you suppose he found someplace else to live?” 

“Maybe he did,” Father said. “I used to think that he became a pirate on a ship of Men, and became very wealthy, and always drank the best of ales and had grand adventures.” 

I yawned again, and let my eyes shut. “That would be splendid, but I don’t think being a pirate is so glorious as being a knight, Father,” I said, and he laughed. 

“I should hope not!” he answered, but I was drifting off, dreaming of a sea of stars.


	7. Bywater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes run away from home, battle a fell beast, face down a rider on the Road, and cause much ado at Bag End.

Frodo, age 14

It is difficult to do anything secretly in a household as full as Bag End. Overloud whispers and repeated hisses of, "Shhhh!" make it even more difficult. Having so many younger siblings, such sounds, I have learned, generally mean that someone is doing something they ought not. 

Setting down the carrots I had just brought from the garden into the kitchen, I followed the not-so-secret noises until I discovered several small someones in the pantry, filling up a bag with apples and biscuits. 

"What about some bread?" Faramir was asking, standing on his tiptoes to reach for a loaf on the shelf. 

"Bread would be good." 

"Well, it won't be very good without butter, but I suppose travellers must do without some things," said Goldilocks, holding open the bag. "Hammie, wrap it up in a tea towel so that it doesn't crumb everywhere," she instructed, and Hamfast, his little face wrinkled with worry, obeyed. 

"I don't know if I want to travel if I must go without butter," he said as he carefully wrapped the loaf and put it in the bag. "Or jam," I said, and all three of them whipped around to face me. The startled, guilty looks on their faces gave me some smug satisfaction, and quite a bit of amusement. 

"And just where are you going without butter or jam?" I asked. 

Goldilocks, always quick to recover herself, jutted out her little chin at me in determination. "We are running away from home and going to the Lonely Mountain," she declared. 

Well, this was something new! As much trouble as my younger siblings and Faramir can be, no one would ever call them dull. I fought back a smile and played the dutiful older brother, raising an eyebrow and folding my arms in front of my chest. 

"Oh, really?" I asked. "And why is this?" 

"Faramir said he was running away, so of course we're going with him," Hamfast contributed. Faramir was kneeling on the floor now, securing the bag. He was already wearing his cloak, and I noticed it was fastened with his father's Elven brooch. He was also pointedly ignoring me. 

"Faramir," I asked, "why are you running away?"

"Because I'm tired of the Shire," he declared, a little savagely. "I've seen all there is to see here, so now I am going adventuring, and I am going to live with the dwarves, and you're not going to stop me." 

He stood up and tilted his head back to look me in the eye then, daring me to defy him with all the conviction a seven-year-old can muster. Faramir is a smart, inventive lad, but he is seldom deliberately disobedient, and I wondered what was the cause behind this newest adventure.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," I said, and then, taking the only logical tactic, added, "I'm rather tired of the Shire myself these days. Perhaps you would let me come along?" 

I gave them my most winning look. Faramir looked aggravated, but Hamfast's face brightened visibly at the suggestion. Goldilocks regarded me thoughtfully, clearly considering my worth. "Frodo might be useful to take with us, Faramir," she said finally, in all seriousness. 

"Yes," I reassured her staunchly, choosing to overlook the "might" in her recommendation, "I do have some uses. I can reach things that are higher up than you can. And I can help you if you need to climb over things like high fences. And if Hamfast gets tired, I can carry him." 

Goldilocks looked pointedly at Faramir. "Hammie is very small," she pointed out, disregarding the fact that Hamfast stood nearly as tall as her, and certainly outweighed her. 

"All right," Faramir said begrudgingly, "Frodo can come. But no one else! There's not much point in running away from home if we take everyone with us." 

"I couldn't agree more," I said solemnly. "I'll just get my cloak then. Also, I need to tell Ellie that I can't help her get winter clothes out of the storeroom today after all." 

Faramir regarded me with new suspicion. "You can't tell her where we're going," he said. 

"Well, I must tell her something," I answered. "Besides, if I tell her we're running away, then she can let Mum and Dad know not to worry about us." 

Faramir looked ready to object, but Goldilocks was hefting up the bag in preparation of slinging it over Faramir's shoulder. "Yes, do that, Frodo," she ordered, somewhat distractedly. "We shouldn't want to be in trouble when we get back from Erebor." 

"Oh, no. We don't want that," I said, and turned before they could see me rolling my eyes. 

***

Ellie took my announcement that I was running away with Faramir, Goldilocks and Hamfast with all the seriousness that such a proclamation deserved, and even came out to the gate to bid us farewell. "I hear you're running away," she said to our younger siblings and their ill-advised leader. "I just wanted to say best of luck. Here's a little something you may need on the road," and she presented each of us with one of Mr. Bilbo's old handkerchiefs, solemnly shaking our hands in farewell. The adventurers were all duly impressed and grateful for the special gift.

"Ellie, if we find jewels we will bring them to you to wear and you will be so pretty!" Hamfast told her in great excitement. 

"Well then, I look forward to your safe return someday," Ellie said, and bestowed a kiss on Hammie's curls. She winked and mouthed, "Good luck!" to me, and we were off. 

"Our first real adventure, without grown-ups or anything!" Goldilocks declared in satisfaction as we started off across the field that would slope down toward Bywater and the Road. "It's only a few days after Mr. Frodo and Dad left on their adventure, too." 

"Will there be trolls?" Hamfast asked, and then reached up to take my hand. I squeezed his little hand gently. "Certainly not," I assured him. "The King's men keep the Road safe nowadays, you know, and the only trolls we shall see are the ones that turned to stone." 

"But if we're lucky, there still might be some on the mountain pass!" Goldilocks chirped happily, and then ran ahead of us a little, "to scout." Faramir remained quiet, trundling along under the weight of the bag and reaching up every so often to finger his father's brooch. Mr. Pippin often left the brooch with Faramir while he was travelling, and whenever he did, Faramir fiddled with it frequently, though he took great care of it. He and Mr. Pippin had just returned from the North Farthing, where they had travelled with Mrs. Took, but she had not returned with them, and Mr. Pippin had said that she would be staying with her parents and sisters at least until Yule. Mr. Pippin’s laugh had been a little quieter than usual, and his smile not so bright, when they had arrived two instead of the expected three. 

The Tooks had arrived in time for our yearly celebration for Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo's birthdays, but once the festivities had ended and the other guests had left, the Thain had announced that he needed to go to Little Delving on some business, and would be back in a week or so. He had left just this day, after luncheon, and I now suspected that Faramir had simply been waiting for Mum and Dad to be too occupied to notice what he was up to before he put his carefully laid plans in motion. 

Faramir had been poorly behaved and cross throughout this visit, earning two spankings already, one for deliberately knocking his supper plate over after loudly declaring that he did not want roast chicken, and the second for taking Daisy's doll away from her and hiding it, making her cry for most of an afternoon. 

He also had routinely addressed his father with more cheekiness than all of us Gamgees combined give our dad, but managed to escape with only one mouth-washing incident. The little siblings had watched this demonstration with a mix of awe and horror, but Ellie had whispered to me, “Poor lad; he should have himself a good cry and get it out that way instead of disrupting the whole smial.”

But clearly, Faramir had not had a good cry and got it out, for here he was running away from home, and with a black cloud over his head. At any rate, it was a nice day for it. The sky was blue, the leaves were in full color, and the air had that invigorating freshness that called, "Come roam with me!" I decided to ignore Faramir ‘s woes for the present and enjoy my walk with Hamfast, his chubby little hand pleasantly warm in mine, and his solid little presence comforting beside me. 

We had nearly reached the path that would eventually lead us to the Road when Goldilocks came dashing back, golden curls streaming behind her. "There is an evil beast blocking the way!" she pronounced breathlessly. "We shall have to fight him!" 

"We're ready for him," Faramir said grimly, and for the first time, I noticed that he was wearing his father's old toy wooden sword. I could not help but grin at his readiness for action.

Hammie gripped my hand tightly and pressed into my leg, but Goldilocks was practically bounding in her glee. "A battle!" she crowed. "We are going into battle! Frodo! Hamfast! Cover our backs! Faramir, with me!" and with those orders, she dashed ahead. 

I looked down at Hamfast, who looked back with troubled eyes. "Goldilocks loves battle," he said mournfully. 

"Yes, I know," I answered with a sigh, having been at the receiving end of Goldilocks' attacks in the past. Hoping that the Valar were protecting whatever poor creature had wandered unsuspecting into the fearsome Goldilocks’ path, I led Hamfast down to the track. 

Goldilocks and Faramir were lying on their bellies beside the track, nearly hidden by the tall grass. In the center of the track was Puck Applethorn's extraordinarily elderly and placid dog, Harry. Old Harry seemed to be right in the middle of a most satisfying nap, completely unaware of his danger. I quickened my pace a little, wanting to make sure no one actually harmed Harry in their zeal 

"Careful, Frodo, he'll see you," Goldilocks hissed as I approached, and I accommodatingly crouched down beside her. 

"What do you think it is?" I asked, gesturing toward Harry. He let out a snuffling snore and twitched before settling back down. 

"A fell beast, without a doubt," Goldilocks pronounced, narrowing her eyes at her prey. "But don't worry, Frodo, Faramir and I will slay him." 

"Perhaps," I whispered, "you should give him the chance to lay down his weapons and pledge his fealty to the King first." 

Goldilocks turned to look in contempt at me, but Faramir -- the son of the Knight of Gondor -- rose regally from the grass, wooden sword in hand. "I will go forward for the parley," he said grimly. "It is only sporting." He marched toward Harry as though approaching his doom. "Foul creature of the Dark Lord!" he announced loudly once he was in front of Harry, sword held upright in front of him. "We give you this one chance to repent your evil ways and swear your loyalty to the King!" 

Harry started awake and yawned. He caught sight of Faramir and thumped his tail on the ground in greeting. "Speak!" Faramir commanded. "Will you let us pass in peace?" At the word, "Speak!" Harry obediently barked, then stood up and stretched. He went over to Faramir and nuzzled his foot-fur, then sniffed with interest at the bag of provisions. 

"Good Harry!" Hamfast declared, all trace of fear and of make-believe suddenly gone. "Faramir, we should give him a biscuit." He waded out of the grass and onto the track to pat Harry's head. 

"Hammie!" Goldilocks snapped, jumping to her feet. "You're spoiling the adventure! We can't give the fell beast a biscuit!" But Hammie already had two ginger biscuits in his hand, and soon was happily munching on one as he fed the other to a grateful Harry. Faramir ruefully patted Harry's head. 

“Good dog," he reassured Harry, who barked happily. 

"Faramir!" Goldilocks scolded, and stamped onto the path. "You were supposed to kill the fell beast!" 

"It's all right, Goldilocks," he said, smiling for the first time since our adventure had begun. "It turns out he is a friend unlooked for. Maybe Harry wants to come with us on our adventure." 

Goldilocks looked at him doubtfully. "Harry is awfully old," she pointed out as the dog licked her hand in greeting. 

"He's old and wise," I said, coming onto the path myself now that all danger was past. "Harry, you are welcome to come with us for as long as our paths go in the same direction." I gave him my best bow, but Harry, intent on seeing if more biscuits were forthcoming, ignored me, unimpressed. Goldilocks decided to soothe her unsated thirst for blood with a biscuit, then Faramir decided that he wanted an apple, and then Hamfast took out the loaf of bread to give Harry some of it, thereby saving more biscuits for himself, but ended up dropping it in the dirt. Goldilocks squawked over the ruined bread until I suggested that perhaps we would encounter some elves who would provide us with lembas, and she quite agreed that lembas was better than bread any day. 

Then Hamfast wanted to carry the sword but Faramir said no, and Hammie cried inconsolably until Faramir gave him his slingshot to carry instead. Then we had to find stones for the slingshot, and then watched with interest while our newest companion dug a small hole beside the path for no apparent reason. We finally set off again within the hour, Harry happily trotting alongside Hamfast. 

***

The Road. 

"We are on The Road," Goldilocks declared excitedly every few minutes, until Faramir began to sing one of Mr. Bilbo's old walking songs and she began to sing along instead. The sun was beginning to set, Hamfast to yawn and I to wonder how to turn our little adventuring party around before dark when both Faramir and Goldilocks abruptly stopped singing and pricked their ears forward. Then -- "Riders!" Faramir hissed. "Riders on the Road! Quick, hide behind that tree!" 

We scrambled for cover somewhat pointlessly, as Harry began barking when he sensed our excitement, and then chased his tail around directly in the middle of the Road. We peered cautiously out from our hiding place. 

"A horse?" Hamfast asked. 

"A Black Rider?" Goldilocks guessed, sounding much too hopeful. 

"Elves?" Faramir suggested. 

"Why, no, it's, well, it's -- Uncle Tom," I said as the pony came into sight. 

"Oh," said three disappointed voices. I climbed back out to the Road and waved, my small companions joining me. 

"Well, Frodo-lad!" Uncle Tom greeted me as he pulled Dapper up. "It's getting late for you children to be about. You won't be back home before dark from where you are now." 

"No, sir, we've run away from home," I said solemnly, hoping that Uncle Tom would take this news with good nature.

"Oh, have you now?" Uncle Tom said, peering down at me. Uncle Tom and Aunt Marigold have only daughters, none of them anything like Goldilocks, so I was quite certain none of his children had ever run away from home. 

"Yes!" Goldilocks said in excitement. "And we battled a fell beast and escaped from Black Riders on the Road!" 

"Ah, well, that's a full day," Uncle Tom said, seeming to catch onto the game. "And where do children who run away from home eat their supper?" 

"We had bread but Hammie dropped it on the path, and we had biscuits but Harry and Hammie have eaten most of them," Goldilocks reported. "But we still have apples." 

"I see," Uncle Tom said sagely. "Well, I know of a nearby hostelry that serves bread with butter and jam, and meat and vegetables and perhaps even pie. It might be just the place for you to sup." 

"Really?" asked Faramir in confusion. "I've never heard of a hostelry around here. Where is it, please?" 

"Just up yonder," Uncle Tom said, waving his hand. "The proprietors are pleasant enough folk by the names of Granddad and Grandmum. You'd be just in time for supper, and inside safe and snug before it's dark." 

"But I want to walk in the dark," Goldilocks asserted, and Uncle Tom leaned down to look her in the eye. 

"Miss Goldilocks, I'm thinking you want to go straight to your grandparents and have supper with them. Isn't that what you think too?" he asked sternly. She scrunched up her nose in thought. 

"Please, Goldilocks, I don't want to walk outside in the dark," Hamfast said, tugging at her skirt. "I don't want to run away at night." 

Goldilocks seemed ready with a sharp retort when Faramir suddenly said, "Yes, let's go to Mr. and Mrs. Cotton's. Hammie is tired anyway, and Harry has to go home." 

"That's right," Uncle Tom said, straightening back up. "I'll let them know you're coming, and I'll be back out after you if you're not there soon. Don't forget to send Harry home at the top of the lane." 

"Yes, sir," I said. "We'll be right along." Uncle Tom rode off, and I turned to look at Faramir. Goldilocks looked somewhat put out, but was not scolding him. 

"It's all right," he reassured us, and he seemed resigned to the end of our adventure. "Maybe after tea is just too late to run away." 

"Maybe," I agreed, picking up Hammie, who was yawning again. "But we can always set out again after supper if you want, Faramir." 

Goldilocks was looking consideringly at Faramir now, and suddenly reached out to take his hand. "Maybe Grandmum will have pie," she suggested, and Faramir smiled wanly at her. 

***

Grandmum did have pie, apple-blackberry, and it was delicious. She also had bread with butter and jam, and ham, and mushrooms, and peas and boiled potatoes. Hamfast nearly fell asleep at the table toward the end of the meal, and Grandmum let the four of us sit and sip milk and a dash with Granddad while she and Aunt Marigold and our cousins cleared the table. Uncle Tom and the farm hands disappeared into the room they use to sit and smoke and play games after working all day. 

"So, who came up with this running away business?" Granddad asked when it was just the five of us, Harry having been rewarded for his loyal service with the few remaining biscuits at the farm lane and told to go home. 

"Faramir," Goldilocks said promptly. "He is running away to the Lonely Mountain, like Mr. Bilbo, so Hammie and I said we would go with him, and then Frodo said he thought he should come too because he could be useful, but really all he's done today is carry Hammie when he was tired." 

"Well, that's something," Granddad said, eying each of us. Hamfast was half-dozing, and Goldilocks and I met his gaze, but Faramir was downcast, studying the contents of his teacup.

"Did Frodo think to tell your dad and mum that you were running away?" Granddad asked Goldilocks, even though he was looking at me again.

"No, but he told Ellie," Goldilocks assured him. "Don't worry, Granddad, she will tell them that we are all right. We will go directly back once we have finished our adventure." 

"What a blessing that is to know," Granddad said, and then I thought I heard him mutter something about Dad and nonsense and adventures. Then he cleared his throat. "Well, Faramir, are those still your plans?" Faramir was silent, still looking into his teacup, so Granddad continued, "Because if they aren't, I could hitch up the cart and have you children back at Bag End in no time, and you'll all be tucked into your beds within the hour, warm and snug and safe. What say you to that, Master Took?" 

Faramir sniffed, and his lower lip quavered for a moment. He did not cry though, but answered, "Yes, please, Mr. Cotton. I think we have run away enough. And it is my fault, so if anyone is to be in trouble, it should be me." 

"Oh, I'm certain you will be," Granddad said mildly, then stood up. "Go tell everyone good night, children, and get your cloaks back on. I'll get the cart." 

We all sat for another moment, Hamfast pressed to my side and dozing, until Goldilocks said, "Are you sure we're done running away, Faramir? Because you seem sad." 

Faramir slammed back the last of his milky tea and set the cup down firmly, just as I had seen his father do with many a mug of ale. "We're done," he said. "I think we must be in awful trouble."

"It will be all right," Goldilocks said, and reached over to hug him. "You'll see. I simply won't stand for our first real adventure to have a sad ending." 

***

There was a great uproar from inside the Hill when Granddad pulled the cart up to the door at Bag End. I had swung down from the seat beside Granddad and gone around to the back to help my fellow miscreants down when the door popped open and Rose stuck her head out. "Oh, Frodo, Elanor is in the most dreadful trouble, but you worse, I think," she said in breathless excitement. 

Merry elbowed his way through the half-open door and grinned happily at me. "It's the most trouble you've been in, ever!" he said, clearly quite delighted with my impending woe. "Running away from home -- I never would have dared to try that!" 

He would have gone on, but just then the door opened completely and Dad appeared. "Rose, Merry, go get ready for bed," he ordered, and they scrambled to obey. "Hello, Dad," he said to Granddad, then came around to the back of the cart. 

I had helped Faramir and Goldilocks down already, and Goldilocks smiled up at him. "Hullo, Daddy," she said, sounding and looking as sweet as a hobbit child can. Faramir looked stubbornly at the ground, his jaw set in a determined line. 

Dad looked at them and sighed, then lifted the sleeping Hamfast out of the back of the cart. "Go to your mother, Goldilocks, she's worried about you," he said, then looked grimly at me. "And you as well. She’s waiting in the study. Faramir, go with Goldilocks and Frodo, and I'll come speak to you children once Hamfast is in bed." 

I bid Granddad thanks and good night, and then made my way to the study while Dad was still talking to him, cradling Hammie close in his arms. 

***

We were in dreadful trouble, certainly the most trouble I had ever been in. Goldilocks was persistent in her conviction that none of us had done anything wrong, and I could not determine if she was trying to avoid punishment, or if she was sincere. 

"But, Dad," she said in exasperation once she understood that running away from home was not an acceptable activity, "we couldn't let Faramir go into the Wild alone. If he had to go, we had to go with him. You should know that, you had to go with Mr. Frodo. Besides, we took Frodo with us to take care of Hammie." 

Dad gave me an exasperated look that clearly said he would have preferred I had just stopped them from adventuring at all before he turned back to Goldilocks.

"I did not run away with Mr. Frodo when I was six years old," he said sternly, seemingly unmoved by Goldilocks' earnest expression. "I mean, I did not run away with Mr. Frodo. That was different. And you," he nabbed one of Faramir's arms and pulled him closer, "what were you about, young hobbit? Just where did you think you were going in such a hurry?" 

"Erebor, sir," Faramir muttered, still looking at the ground. "And it was all my idea. No one else would have come if I hadn't wanted to leave." 

"But whatever made you want to just set out for the Lonely Mountain like that -- you're too old for such nonsense, Faramir," Dad said, and Faramir chewed on his lip in silent response. 

"Daddy," Goldilocks piped, "we weren't going all the way to the Lonely Mountain tonight. We were just going as far as Buckland tonight, then Bree tomorrow, then to Rivendell, and then to the Lonely Mountain." 

Dad looked long and hard at her, and she met his gaze fearlessly. Finally -- "Go get cleaned up and get into bed, the both of you," Dad said. "That's enough of this nonsense for tonight." 

"Yes, sir," they chorused, Goldilocks still bouncing and cheerful, Faramir still downcast and defeated. 

"You, too," Dad said, fixing me with his gaze. "I'll decide what's to be done with you in the morning." 

"Yes, sir," I answered, and fled the study. 

Washed and in my nightshirt, I could not resist poking my head in on my fellow adventurers before going to bed. Goldilocks was sound asleep already, tucked into bed with Daisy and Primrose, but Faramir was still awake, a candle burning on the chest of drawers. I guessed he was waiting for Hamfast, who was probably receiving a much-needed bath; Merry and Pippin were already asleep in the other bed. "'Lo, Frodo," Faramir said glumly. He was fiddling with his father's Elven brooch as he lay in bed. 

"'Lo, Faramir," I answered, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Are you sorry that we were not able to run away all the way to the Lonely Mountain?" 

Faramir shrugged, and looked at the brooch rather than me. "I suppose not," he said. "I didn't mean to cause all this trouble. I just wanted to go somewhere else for a bit." 

"Maybe it's the season," I suggested, and he finally looked at me questioningly. "My dad says that Mr. Frodo was always wanting to go after Mr. Bilbo in the autumn, that the season made him want adventure and travel. Maybe you just felt a little like that." 

Faramir looked like he fancied the idea. "Maybe," he said, cocking his head in thought. "Father says I remind him a bit of Cousin Frodo, that I even look like him some. Maybe it is the time of year for adventures." 

"Maybe," I said. "And remember how much trouble Mr. Bilbo had when he came back from his adventure? He almost lost Bag End -- that's much worse that whatever will happen to us!" 

Faramir smiled at me now. "That would have been dreadful," he said. "Then we couldn't be here now, could we?" 

He fiddled with the brooch again, and then said reluctantly, "I suppose I would have missed Father, though, if we had really run away." 

"Yes," I agreed, "I would have missed Mum and Dad." 

"And Mamma, too, I think," Faramir said very quietly. "I would have missed her too." 

"I am sure that you'll miss her this winter, when she is so far away for so long," I answered just as quietly, and Faramir nodded minutely, his lower lip trembling.

"If I'd been adventuring all winter, there might not have been time to miss her," he said in a quavering voice. "But I missed her today, even though we had great adventures, so maybe I would have missed her still." 

"Yes," I agreed, and stroked Faramir's curls. Faramir sniffled and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. 

"Thank you for running away with me, Frodo," he said. 

"It wouldn't have done to let you run away alone," I pointed out. "What if Dad had let Mr. Frodo run away all by himself?" 

Faramir gave me a shaky smile. "I don't think Mayor Gamgee liked Goldilocks saying that very much," he said ruefully, and I bent my head conspiratorially near to his. 

"Neither do I," I whispered, and we both giggled. 

Just then I heard a sigh from the doorway, and Dad came in carrying Hammie. "Bed, lads," he ordered. "Faramir, tell Frodo good night." 

"Good night, Frodo," Faramir said, and pressed a kiss to my cheek before snuggling down next to Hammie. "Good night, Mayor Gamgee," he added, and Dad bent over him to place a gentle kiss to his curls. 

"Good night, Faramir-lad," he said kindly. 

In the hallway, he looked sternly at me, but I could see something else in his look, something that looked like pride. "I'm only saying this once, Frodo-lad," he said, then paused dramatically, "I did not run away with Mr. Frodo." 

I fought back a smile. "No, sir, of course not," I answered. 

"That was very different," he continued. 

"Yes, sir," I agreed. 

"We really had no choice," he added. 

"No, you didn’t," I said. 

"And I couldn't let him run away by himself," he concluded. 

The smallest hint of a smile worked its way onto my face despite my best efforts. "I know you couldn't, Dad," I said. 

"Go to bed, Frodo," he said sternly, and then pulled me into a hug. 

"Good night, Dad," I said, and hugged him back.


	8. Bree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merry is dull and mature, and Goldilocks is quite Tookish.

Merry, age 59

There are some things that never change.

For all that I have witnessed in my life -- the return of the King, the overthrow of the Dark Lord, the dawn of a new age -- it has become apparent to me that there are still things in this world as unchangeable as the mountains. Mere hobbit-lads who could not fathom the world beyond their borders are now knights of the Mark and of Gondor. We are husbands and fathers. We have left behind the carefree larks of youth and taken on the mantles of Master and Thain. 

And yet, for all this change, this one thing remains true:

Pippin is a complete and total fool.

A simple trip to Bree, to take care of some trade agreements and to hear the news of the world that always reaches Bree, perched as it is on the crossroads of the East Road and the Old Greenway, long before we catch wind of anything in the Shire. That’s all it was supposed to be. One night at the Prancing Pony, and then back to Buckland for dinner at the Hall the next day. 

I should have invited Berilac instead. I realized this too late, when Pippin showed up with a swarm of children.

“They’re not a swarm,” Pippin said as he greeted me with a hug. “They are only three, Merry. You won’t even know they’re with us. The younger children up at Bag End have the common pox, so I just couldn’t leave Faramir there as I’d planned, and poor Sam and Rose looked ready to collapse, what with tending to the sick ones and trying to keep the well ones out of trouble. ‘Lo, Estella!” he called suddenly as my wife appeared in the corridor, and he bent to give her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.

“Hullo, Pip,” Estella answered, returned the kiss with a bit more reserve. “So we’ve you to thank for the three starving wildlings in the kitchen?”

“They’re not starving,” Pippin protested, clearly affronted at the implication that he had not properly cared for said wildlings on their trip to Brandy Hall. 

“They’re children, they’re always starving,” Estella said dryly, and pinched Pippin’s cheek to show that she meant no harm.

“I hope they don’t eat you out of the smial before we’ve returned, Stel,” I told her, and she smiled wickedly at me.

“Oh, but Merry-love, Goldilocks informs me that she is going to Bree with Mr. Pippin,” she said. “That they all are going to Bree with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry, and won’t it be a grand time, actually leaving the Shire! She can barely find time to shovel food into her mouth for trying to tell me about it as fast as she can.”

I snorted. “Well, she’ll just have to rid herself of that notion,” I said firmly. 

Pippin coughed slightly. “Well, you see, Merry, it’s just that I promised them,” he said, and at least had the good grace to sound abashed.

“And you don’t want him going back on a promise, now do you, Merry?” Estella said, and patted my arm as I wordlessly open and shut my mouth. “It’s just three little children, and they will be in the care of the Master and Thain themselves. Surely those dashing heroes can handle three little hobbits on a one-night trip?”

I gave Estella an impressively severe look, and she laughed outright in delight. “Oh, yes, you are certainly in for a fun trip,” she said, and laughed again as she turned and walked down the corridor. “Come along, lads, I shall see if there is any food yet remaining in the kitchen that might be fit to serve our Thain.”

I turned the severe look on Pippin, but his face was all big, bright smile. “Now, don’t grumble, Merry,” he said soothingly, and slung an arm around my shoulders. “It shall be a splendid time! I have been assuring Faramir for ages now that soon he will do a little travelling, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. And you wouldn’t want to ask him to leave Goldilocks and Hamfast behind, now would you?

“Pippin, they’re much too young,” I began, but he just grinned at me.

“Oh, don’t carry on so,” he said cheerily. “Like Estella said, surely such dashing heroes as the two of us can handle three little hobbits on a one-night trip. What could possibly go wrong?”

***

At first, I thought Pippin might actually be right. We had to take a cart, of course, rather than ride ponies, to accommodate the children, but all three of them were in good spirits and on good behavior as we set out. There was much crowing about the leaving of the Shire as we trotted out the Gate, but soon after, the three of them settled down in the back of the cart and set to playing a word game to keep themselves amused. Pippin joined in after a while and soon had them squealing with giggles.

“Do you think, Mr. Merry,” Goldilocks said, standing up in the back of the cart and wedging herself in between my and Pippin’s shoulders, “that we should stop and visit Tom Bombadil?”

“I think, Miss Goldilocks,” I answered without hesitation, “that we should go straight on to Bree so we can be there to have our supper.”

“That is not very adventuresome,” Goldilocks observed, but I was not about to be goaded by a 10-year-old lass.

“Well, I suppose I have turned out dull and hobbit-like in the end after all,” I answered, and Pippin snorted. Faramir, though, laughed somewhat evilly.

“Goldilocks thinks that you and Father may have made Tom Bombadil up,” Faramir said smugly. 

“Goldilocks!” I said in reproach. “You don’t think that, do you? Your father knows he is real enough!”

“Well, I may have just checked with Daddy, to be certain,” Goldilocks said hastily, ducking her head down.

“Yes, and then you said that we should try to find out for ourselves, just to be certainly certain,” Hamfast said. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see that both lads were grinning madly at the trouble they were getting Goldilocks into.

Pippin was giving Goldilocks a wounded look, and she flushed. “Well, there was all that silliness about you meeting a grogach in the South Farthing and drinking ale with him, and then the whole story about the dancing dwarves and Daddy said it simply couldn’t be true, for no dwarf he’s ever known would dance, and also what you said about the Tooks coming from Faïre and not being proper hobbits at all,” Goldilocks said defensively. 

“Oh, I see,” Pippin said, still wearing the hurt expression that had been serving him so well since childhood. “You think I am full of nonsense and tall tales.”

“You rather are, Father,” Faramir said, with no seeming concern for the crushed look on his father’s face.

“Goldilocks,” I said, “there is a difference between telling a good story and telling a falsehood.”

“Oh, I know, Mr. Merry,” she said quickly. “I know Mr. Pippin would not lie to us. But I just thought that perhaps Tom Bombadil was a story too. He does sing and dance quite a lot, and I don’t understand how Goldberry is the river’s daughter. It doesn’t really sound like something that is real, and not a story.”

Well, that was certainly true, and I could not contest it, so I simply said firmly, “Well, it is all real, and not a story.” Then, I added, “And we still are not going to stop and see Tom Bombadil.”

Goldilocks sighed in resignation and flopped back down into her seat of blankets. 

“I think, Goldilocks,” Faramir said with insight, “that Tom Bombadil might not be someone you go to see, but rather someone that you happen to see. Right, Father?”

“Just so,” Pippin said, and his mournful look dissipated somewhat. “There are many things in this world, Faramir, that you cannot find by looking for them.”

“That seems a silly way to manage things,” I heard Goldilocks mutter, and Hamfast giggled. He popped up between our shoulders and pressed himself affectionately into Pippin’s side. 

“I don’t mind not going to see Tom Bombadil,” he said. “We might have to go into the Old Forest, or near the Barrows. I think I should rather see Bree, and meet Barliman Butterbur. He is most certainly real.”

“As real as the earth, Hammie,” I said, and he smiled up at me. “And you don’t even need to go looking for him to find him. In fact, he’s right hard to miss.”

“Does he really serve the best beer west of the Mountains?” Faramir asked. “May we try it?”

“No,” Pippin and I said as one, and then Hamfast flopped back down to join his companions and all three of them giggled and whispered, no doubt planning how to steal their first tastes of beer. 

If they got into no further trouble than a sip or two of beer, I thought, I would be a content hobbit.

***

As I’d said, old Butterbur was difficult to miss, the plentiful years now visible in his girth. He was slowing down with age, and his eldest son was running much of the business now, but it was still Barliman who greeted you when you stepped in the door.

“Hello, Mr. Butterbur, sir,” Faramir said, walking right up to him as Pippin and I herded the young Gamgees and our bags inside. “I am Faramir Took and my father says we are to have two adjoining hobbits rooms and we will take our supper in there and would you please be so kind as to join us if you have the time?”

Barliman shook Faramir’s hand solemnly. “A great honor to meet you, young master,” he said seriously. “I would have known you for Mr. Took’s son had I passed you on the street. And who are your companions?”

“We are Goldilocks and Hamfast Gamgee, sir,” Goldilocks answered, and I saw that for all her bravado, she was hanging back behind Faramir, while Hamfast hung back behind his sister. “Mayor Gamgee is our father.”

“Indeed,” Barliman said. “Then the Pony is full of honored guests this evening. I shall have to accept Mr. Took’s offer of supper then, for never let it be said that Barliman Butterbur slighted visiting dignitaries.”

This made the children grin and squirm with delight, and over their heads, Barliman winked at Pippin and me. “Now, Hob here will show you to your rooms and where you can wash up, and I’ll send the Thain and the Master right along behind you . . .” He guided them toward the corridor as he spoke, and a chipper young hobbit led them away.

“Ah, Mr. Brandybuck!” Barliman exclaimed with delight, turning back and shaking my hand heartily. “And Mr. Took! A pleasure, a pleasure, always my pleasure! And triply so this day with your young companions! Mr. Took, that is a fine young lad you have there, I would have known him for yours in an instant.”

“Yes, he’s got the Took features all right,” Pippin said, letting Barliman yank on his arm like it was a water pump. “You’re looking well, Mr. Butterbur.”

“I am, I am, and I shall join you for dinner if my lack-witted children can be trusted not to burn the inn down while I sit and rest my tired body for a spot,” he said. Behind him, his eldest son, Bartleby, said, “We’ve not burnt it down yet, Pap!” Barliman ignored him.

“We thought supper with the children and then Pippin and I would come out to the common room for a spell,” I told him. “We’ve some business early in the morning, and then we’ll be off.”

“Oh, so short a visit?” Barliman asked with regret. “Ah, well, I know you are busy, and because of it the Shire is thriving like never before. Not that we’re doing poorly ourselves here in Bree. But I’ll give you all the news at supper. Hob!” he bellowed suddenly. “Hob! Come show these guests to their rooms!”

“We know the way,” Pippin hastily reassured him, lest the shouting continue. “At supper, then?”

“Yes, yes,” Barliman said, but his attention was already distracted by a loud clanging coming from the kitchen. “What are those fools doing?” he muttered, and raced off.

“It is good to know that some things don’t change,” Pippin mused as we went down the corridor.

“It is indeed,” I answered.

***

The news from Bree was good, the supper was fine, and the rooms were comfortable. In short, everything was as we had expected it, and I anticipated a pleasant evening in the common room, followed by a satisfactory business trade in the morning and an uneventful trip back to Buckland.

The children were impressed with everything, and behaved so well that I was quite glad we’d brought them. They were especially taken with Barliman, and hung on his every word. As usual, he had not only news of Bree and the Crossroads, but of the dwarves, of Rivendell, of the King’s men in the West, and -- an item of great thrill to the children -- a rumor of trolls near the foot of the Mountains.

“Do you suppose they would come so far as Bree, Mr. Butterbur?” Goldilocks asked breathlessly. “Do you think the gates would keep them out?”

“Well, the mountains are a good step away from Bree, Miss Gamgee,” Butterbur said, “but one must always be vigilant. Since the King has come, though, we’ve little trouble here in Bree. It is near as safe as your Shire, though perhaps a bit more colorful, what with so many travellers coming through. No, save some dark rumors and some homegrown haints, we’ve naught to fear.”

“Haints?” the children chorused.

“There are haints in Bree?” Goldilocks demanded, and Faramir added, “Real haints? Have you seen one?”

Hamfast, though, said stoutly, “There are no haints. My dad said so, because Millie Underhill said that Lotho Sackville-Baggins is a haint at Bag End and Dad said that was pure nonsense, and I’ve sure never seen him there.”

“That is pure nonsense, Hamfast,” Pippin said firmly. “Though I can’t tell yet if Mr. Butterbur’s haints are or not, as he hasn’t told us about them yet.”

“Pippin!” I hissed in disapproval, but he winked at me in amusement. 

“Oh, let them have their scary story,” he whispered. “Don’t you remember when there was nothing better than one of Frodo’s shivery tales? What about that one about the dwarf hand in the cellar of Bag End? We loved that.”

“You didn’t love it so much when you were scared half out of your wits,” I answered, but then bit my tongue and let Butterbur tell his tale. Perhaps I was getting too dull and responsible, I mused, to try and take this bit of fun away from the children.

“Well, there is one in particular that I’m quite certain is not nonsense,” Butterbur was telling the children. They were leaning in toward him, eyes huge and ears tilted forward. “I’m sure your fathers have told you about old Bill Ferny. Well, a worse villain Bree has never known, and we were right glad to see the dust on his heels, let me tell you. More’s the shame that he went to stir up trouble in the Shire, but Mr. Brandybuck here sent him fleeing into the night and that was the last anyone ever heard of him.

“Or at least heard of him in this life.” Butterbur lowered his voice and looked around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. He leaned in closer to the children. “See, wasn’t a person in town, Big or Little, who would take Ferny’s property once he was gone. Nasty, filthy shack it was, though it had been a nice enough little place when he first moved in. So there it sat, alone at the edge of town, and no one ever paid it much mind. Until a number of years ago, folk starting hearing, well, strange sounds coming out of it at night.”

“What strange sounds?” Faramir whispered.

“Moaning,” Butterbur whispered back. “And sometimes even wailing. It’s said that Bill finally came to a bad end, and his wandering haint found its way back home, and now it’s trapped in there, alone and miserable. I’ve heard it myself, walking past that house on an evening. Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand right up, those noises do. A few brave souls have gone in there at night, but all have coming running back out in terror, for as soon as someone sets foot over the threshold, Bill starts up a screaming to stop your heart. For myself, there’s not enough gold on this earth to make me set foot on that property after the sun’s gone down. I knew Bill in life, and I’d rather steer clear of his haint, the poor, restless spirit.”

With that, Butterbur straightened up and took a long drink of his ale, signifying clearly that the story had ended. “Oooooh,” the children chorused with equal measure of fright and delight.

“That is a good story, Mr. Butterbur,” Faramir said with approval.

“Oh, a story, is it?” Butterbur said. “Perhaps. How can a person tell what is the story and what is not? There’s strange truth in stories, children, and don’t forget that.”

“That may be, Mr. Butterbur,” Pippin said, standing up, “but the thing stories are still best for is bedtime. Which it now is. Children, thank our host, please.”

A collected, “Ohhh,” several groans, and then three “Thank you, Mr. Butterbur”, and then Pippin herded them off to their bedroom, leaving Butterbur and me alone. I poured us both a fresh ale and sat back down.

“That is a good story, Barliman,” I said. “And you tell it well.”

“Aah,” he said. “Thought you might like it. Tis true, about Bill’s old house. Who’s to say it’s not his haint down there bothering the neighbors? Perhaps he felt he hadn’t been enough of a hindrance while he was still alive.”

“I really don’t see how that is possible,” I answered wryly, and Butterbur nodded sagely.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, and raised his glass.

***

A spell in the common room turned into several hours in the common room and firm verification that whatever Gandalf had done to Barliman’s beer still had lingering effects. There was a party of dwarves from the Blue Mountains having a trade meeting with several of the town’s merchants, a group of noble-looking men from the area near Lake Evendim, and some fishermen from the mouth of the Brandywine, so the news was far-reaching and of keen interest to both Pippin and myself. We had taken one trip past the mountains, to Rohan and Minas Tirith, since our Faramir was born, but our ability to travel, with small children and wives at home, was not what it had been in the freedom of the Crickhollow years.

I did not mind, though. I would not trade life with Estella and the children for regular trips abroad, and I look forward to the day when Periadoc are Éowyn are old enough to travel with me to Rohan, and see the Golden Hall for themselves. For now, I could find adventure enough in Bree.

And to be certain, travelling with Pippin is always an adventure. Especially when he insists on travelling with small, curious companions. Sam swears there isn’t a drop of Took blood in his veins, but sometimes I think he must be mistaken, for surely no one but a Took could get themselves into the kind of trouble his children seem to attract. Well, at least two of his children that I could name.

The merchants had gone and I was talking to the dwarves near the fire when Pippin came back from looking in on the children and tugged on my jacket elbow, sloshing my beer.

“Steady on, Pippin,” I said irritably. 

“Step outside and talk to me for a moment, cousin,” he said, and took the beer out of my hand, finishing it off in a gulp.

“Pippin!” I admonished, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“If you’ll excuse us, my good dwarves,” he said to my companions, and bowed deeply. While the dwarves were still bowing back, he grabbed me by the collar and hauled me outside.

“Peregrin Took!” I said, torn between annoyance and concern. “What is the matter with you?”

“Here, Merry, though I don’t think you’ll need it,” he said, and pressed my sword into my hand. I noticed suddenly that he was wearing his, and tried to remember if he had been doing so all evening. “Doesn’t hurt to be safe,” Pippin said, and began hurrying me along the street. “Come on, come on, the sooner we get there the better chance there won’t be trouble.”

“Where are we going? And what kind of trouble?” I asked, but followed his lead as quickly as I could, catching his sense of urgency.

Pippin was shaking his head and chuckling as he trotted down the main street. “Really, the things they get in their heads,” he said. “You have to admire their spirit. Even so, Faramir’s going to be of age before I let him out of Tookland again.”

A horrible thought came into my mind then. “Pippin,” I said, “the children weren’t gone from their beds, were they?”

“Of course they were,” he said. “They’ve gone to Bill Ferny’s house, to be certainly certain that his haint isn’t there.”

“How do you know?” I asked, suddenly picturing myself having to explain any number of horrors to Sam and Rosie.

“Oh, Merry.” Pippin waved dismissively at me. “How do you think I know? It’s what I would have done, isn’t it?”

Well, it was, of course, there was no arguing that. And there we were, outside Bill Ferny’s old ruin of a house. It was dark and uninviting in the dim light cast by the moon and the light coming from the few nearby houses. The gate was open.

Pippin loosened his sword in its scabbard. “Well, cousin, shall we face the haint together?”

I clapped a hand to his shoulder. “Come on,” I said, and led the way down the path.

It was pitch black inside the shack, and the old floor creaked ominously under my feet. “Hullo?” I called. “Anyone here?”

For a moment, there was no sound at all, and then several things happened at once. There was a loud, unearthly wailing, quickly joined by several loud, very earthly, very shrill screams. Something crashed to the floor to my left, and then I was knocked down by a noisily shrieking creature that fixed its paws in my hair. As I lay there trying to catch my breath, something else scurried over my outstretched arm, and there was a gust of air and more shadowy shapes rushed by me. Pippin shouted, and suddenly vanished from the doorway.

I did the only thing I could and scrambled to my feet, the creature still clinging to me, and dashed for the door. “Pippin!” I called, suddenly frightened something had happened to him. The creature clinging to me shrieked again and bit my hand. I bit back a curse and tumbled out the front door.

My hand throbbing, I reached down and wrenched away my attacker, who kicked at me furiously and screamed again at the top of her little lungs.

“Goldilocks!” I yelled, and she stopped fighting and burst into tears.

“Mr. Merry!” she wailed, and reached her arms out to me. “Mr. Merry, there really are haints!”

“Oh, Goldilocks, sweetheart, there most certainly are not,” Pippin said from behind me, and I turned to see him smiling at us, a trembling lad wrapped around each leg. “Look over there. Look at what your haint really is.”

Scurrying across the ground, hissing and twitching with outrage, was a very large, very fat hedgehog. Even as we watched, he raced past us back toward the house, paused at the door, and turned to give us one final, menacing glare of disapproval.

“See?” Pippin said, stroking both lads’ hair. “Bill Ferny’s haint is nothing but a mean old hedgehog who doesn’t approve of naughty children who sneak out of their beds at night to come and bother him.”

“A hedgehog?” Goldilocks squeaked, her arms in a stranglehold around my neck. “A hedgehog is Bill Ferny’s haint?”

“So it would seem,” Pippin said, and began trying to pry the lads from his legs. “Come along, now, you’re both all right. Let go, and we can get you all back into bed safe and sound, and I shall protect you from everything that goes bump in the night.”

“A hedgehog?” Goldilocks said again, letting go of my neck and sitting up in my arms. “A silly hedgehog is Bill Ferny’s haint? Well, that’s no good! That’s not scary at all!”

“It’s scary enough for hobbit lasses who are going to have to tell their parents how they snuck out of their beds in a strange town and went into a dark, dangerous old house,” I told her, and suddenly Goldilocks looked scared enough to satisfy any storyteller.

Pippin had managed to transfer Faramir’s grip from his leg to his coat, and to coax Hamfast into his arms. “Now, that is a scary story, isn’t it, Goldilocks? And completely, certainly real,” he said. “I shall enjoy hearing you tell it.” He smiled cheerily into Goldilocks’ regretful face, and then led us back toward the Pony, Hamfast clinging to his neck and Faramir tripping over his heels.

Goldilocks regarded me solemnly with much the same look that Pippin had used so many times to convince me to hide his misdeeds. “Oh, I don’t think so!” I said. “Not this time! I hope that you enjoyed your glimpse of the world outside the Shire, Miss Goldilocks, for I don’t think you’ll be seeing much beyond Bag End for some time to come.”

She sighed and leaned forward against my chest. “I know,” she said. “It did not go quite as I had planned. There was a gust of wind that blew the lantern out, and then we could not find one another or the door, and then the haint started making an awful row. It was too scary even for me, I think.”

“I didn’t think it possible,” I said calmly, and began following after Pippin. “Remember this night the next time you have such splendid ideas, Goldilocks.”

“I shall try,” she said with a sigh, and then tightened her arms around me. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Merry. I’m sorry about your hand.”

I patted her back with the hand in question, the marks from her small, sharp teeth still throbbing slightly. “Any time, Goldilocks,” I said.

***

“Mr. Merry,” Goldilocks said, standing up in the back of the cart and wedging herself in between my and Pippin’s shoulders, “is it true that you and Mr. Pippin were horrible lads who got into terrible trouble and set the kitchen at Bag End on fire twice?”

“Why, Goldilocks, wherever did you hear such dreadful things?” I replied without hesitation. “So far as I can recall, I have always been a well-behaved, respectable gentlehobbit.”

“Mummy said you wagered and imbibed and cavorted, though I’m not quite certain what she meant by those last two things,” Goldilocks replied, and Hamfast added, “And Dad said if there was a to-do, you were likely at the bottom of it.”

“You see, children,” I said sagely, “that is a story that you heard about me in my youth. Certainly you can’t imagine such a dull and mature hobbit as myself being a horrible lad.”

“I can,” Faramir said. “Auntie Pearl says you were incorrigible, and that Father just blindly followed after you from one misadventure to the next. She says it’s miraculous either of you survived your tweens. I think the story is that you were ever well-behaved at all.”

Goldilocks was examining me shrewdly but I kept my eyes fixed on the ponies. “Well, Miss Goldilocks, what do you think? Was my good cousin worse than you could ever hope to be when he was a lad, or was he the apple of the Shire?” Pippin asked her seriously.

“I think,” Goldilocks said, still looking at me hard, “that Mr. Merry is not so dull and mature as he imagines himself to be.” Then, to my surprise, she leaned forward and bestowed a hasty kiss to my cheek before hurtling herself back into the bottom of the cart.

“Well, I suppose that might be true,” I conceded, and Pippin snorted.

“He supposes you might be right, Goldilocks,” he called over his shoulder. “Now, I, on the other hand, have always been just as dull and mature as I am today.”

“Mr. Pippin, you’re not dull in the least,” Hamfast reassured him, but Faramir and Goldilocks laughed with glee.

“Perhaps,” Faramir said, “in the stories someday you will be, Father.”

“I can only hope,” Pippin said with a sigh. And with that, we rounded a long curve to see the Brandywine sparkling with the setting sun, home at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frodo’s shivery tale about the dwarf hand in Bag End is the invention of the fantastic Shirebound, and can be found in Chapter Six of her story [Master of Bag End](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/1265608/6/). Many thanks to her for letting me reference it.


	9. Rivendell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sad goes with the fun.

Pippin, age 53

It was Diamond’s idea, taking Faramir to Rivendell, and you could have knocked me over with a feather when she suggested it. 

“I think you should do something special with Faramir,” she’d said at breakfast, calmly buttering her scone. 

“I’ve done everything special there is to do with Faramir, Di,” I answered, helping myself to more bacon. “Why, do you know of something he wants to do?”

Diamond bit into the scone daintily, then sipped at her tea. I waited -- if I’ve learned nothing else from marriage, I’ve learned patience. She set her cup down and fussily arranged it. “Well, he does want to travel,” she said.

I was so surprised I put my fork down. “He does,” I agreed. Faramir did want to travel, so much so it was a wonder he hadn’t set off on his own. His mother, though, had let me know through the tightening of her mouth at the mention of even the small excursions I had taken Faramir on thus far that she did not approve. 

“Yes,” she continued. “Perhaps a trip, then. Maybe to that place, with the elves, where you and Merry are always running off to.”

“Rivendell,” I said. “And I’ve only been there once since Faramir was born. I’d hardly call that ‘always running off to.’”

The corners of Diamond’s mouth tightened, a warning sign, and her fingers clenched about the handle of her teacup. She looked out the window at the soft spring morning, and then sighed, the tension suddenly leaving her.

“I don’t want to fight, Pippin,” she said, and sounded so weary and unlike herself. “Our son is hurting, and he needs something to help him move on. As there is no comfort for him here, perhaps he could find it elsewhere.” She looked out the window, toward Green Hill Country, for a moment longer, then stood and put her napkin on the table. “I am going home soon,” she said. “You do what you think best for Faramir.”

She turned to walk away, but I stayed her with a hand on her wrist. “Di,” I said softly, not sure what to say. In all the years she had lived more with her family in the North Farthing than with her husband and son in Tookland, she had never before called her family’s smials home. And never before had I heard so clearly in her voice regret at not knowing our son better.

But in the end, all I could think to say was, “I think Rivendell would be wonderful for Faramir.”

***

I had found dear Briony, late one evening, seated in the rocker that had soothed me to sleep as a baby, in front of the fire. Her knitting needles were in her hands, a half-finished hat for Faramir in her lap. Never to be finished now.

One-hundred and twenty-four years is a long, long life for a hobbit, and Briony spent just shy of 102 of those years in service to the children of the Tooks. She was only 22 when she came to train as a nurse at the Great Smials, when my father was eight. I had never known a world without her fierce, cantankerous, sharp-tongued love, and I had knelt down on the rug and put my head in her lap one last time and cried.

Almost 300 hobbits came to her burial. The Smials emptied out of family and servants, and Tuckborough market shut down. Hobbits came from Hobbiton and Bywater, Waymoot and Michel Delving, and from as far away as Buckland, in the form of a large contingency of Brandybucks who had loved and feared Briony in their youth. Merry and Estella had been at their head, little Periadoc and Éowyn in tow.

And from Bag End came every one of the Gamgees, now 15 strong since Sam and Rose came back from Minas Tirith with Elanor and baby Tolman. I am always happy to see every one of those 15 faces, but especially so then, because Faramir is closer to the Gamgee children than to any cousin he has at the Smials. That night, I was able to tuck him into bed in between Hamfast and Periadoc, and in the morning, I discovered that Goldilocks had sneaked in and made a nest of blankets at the foot of the bed. 

Faramir had shouted at me when I’d told him Briony was gone, and accused me of lying. But once he had seen for himself, he had become distant and quiet, dazed and grieving too deeply even to weep. Briony had been mother, grandmother, nurse, confidante, friend and comfort to my lad, and he could not imagine a world without her, not even after she was gone.

Diamond had come by pony, not carriage, so that she might be in time for the burial service. I was surprised when she arrived, but then I saw it in her face -- she knew what this loss meant to Faramir, and thought to step into that empty place. After 13 years, Di was finally grown-up enough to be a mother.

Faramir had kissed her cheek, and said, “Hullo, Mamma. Thank you for coming,” as politely as he had greeted every mourner, and pain had flashed across my wife’s face.

She stayed, though, a full six weeks until that breakfast when she told me to take Faramir to Rivendell. I saw her reach out repeatedly to Faramir, but while I know he loves his mother, she is largely a stranger to him.

Sam and Rose left Goldilocks and Hamfast behind with Faramir, but not even their presence lifted his spirits. A six-week stay, and not once did I have to rescue a hobbit-child or pay for damages. I would have given anything to break up a tussle or hear from the cooks about missing cake.

I stood up from the breakfast table and went to the window. I had followed Frodo and Merry across those hills once, when I was small enough to be packed as luggage myself. Briony, I recalled, had grabbed both of them by an ear and shook them so hard that Frodo claimed the next day he had a loose tooth. 

I had last been to Rivendell when Faramir was five, back when Diamond was still a regular presence at the Smials. I had not travelled far in the ensuing years, save one trip to Gondor, but other than that I had not strayed farther than Bree.

“Rivendell,” I said aloud, and pictured Faramir’s face when he first saw the Last Homely House. I smiled, and said it again. “Rivendell.”

***

Di’s plan worked splendidly, especially when I persuaded (quite easily, in fact) Sam and Rose into letting me take along Goldilocks and Hamfast. Actually, it may have worked too well, I decided on our fourth day at the Last Homely House, when I had to apologize to the cook for missing delicacies, the gardener for trampled sprouts, the head groom for general noise and disruption, and the cleaning staff for little fingerprints on every surface to be found and little mudprints throughout the house.

“Perhaps tomorrow an excursion in the valley?” Elrohir suggested dryly that evening, and I heartily agreed. There is nothing like a walking party for young energy. 

So we packed lunch (and second breakfast, and elevenses, and some snacks -- they are growing children, and I need energy to keep up with them, after all) and allowed Elrohir to take us wandering about the hidden paths and nooks and crannies. The Rivendell valley in spring is a wonder, indeed, and there seemed nothing to put a damper on our day -- not until a heavy spring rain began to fall and thunder to rumble.

Elrohir seemed unbothered by the sudden storm, but we hobbits must not have seemed so unbothered, because he picked up little Hamfast and called, “Follow me, I know a better way back to the house than through the rain.” He led us up to what seemed to me a rock wall thrust into the valley -- and then walked right into it.

Faramir, Goldilocks and I stood blinking through the rain at the wall, and then I took both of them by the hand. “Come on,” I said. “Elves can do wondrous things, but they cannot walk through rock. There must be a way in.” And I confidently (at least, I meant to appear confident) approached the rock wall, only to discover that there was an entrance, large enough for a single Elf to pass through at a time, and cut at such an angle that someone walking by would mistake it for a solid wall.

Inside, we found an Elf I recognized as being one of Rivendell’s border guards, inside a warm, dry cave that was less cave and more sanctuary. As the Elf brought us blankets to dry off with, I looked around the cave at the graceful statues and ornate benches seemingly carved out of the walls themselves. Torches glowed on the walls. It reminded me strongly of Minas Tirith, only what Minas Tirith would have looked like if Elves, and not Men, had built it. I wondered if this was what the caves of King Thranduil were like.

“A guardhouse?” I inquired of Elrohir, who smiled.

“I suppose Men would call it such,” he answered. “It is part of Rivendell, and will lead us back to the house.” He nodded toward an archway at the back of the room, through which I could see the flickering lights of more torches. 

“A secret passage!” Faramir exclaimed in delight. “A hidden tunnel to the Last Homely House!” 

“Very secret,” Elrohir solemnly assured him, and the Elf guard looked highly amused as he resumed his position at the exit to the valley.

“Will we come out through a hidden door inside your house?” Goldilocks asked excitedly.

“Actually, yes,” Elrohir said. “There are many such secrets in Rivendell, and it is a great thing to be entrusted with them.”

The children all looked suitably impressed, and Hamfast said, “We will never tell your secrets, Elrohir.”

“Not even if we’re captured and tortured and made to go without food and water,” Goldilocks added stoutly, making her brother look rather regretful that he had agreed to such trials. She, on the other hand, sounded as if she were looking forward to it.

Elrohir bowed to her. “I know my trust is not misplaced,” he said solemnly. “Now, if we can move ahead down the passageway, you shall find that we come out quite near the kitchens. I believe we shall arrive just in time for tea, provided Cook has come to believe that such is a necessary meal.”

“Quite necessary,” I said, and the children nodded vigorously in agreement. Thus we let Elrohir lead the way.

As the cave was more sanctuary than cave, the tunnel was more passageway than tunnel. There were more statues along the way, and beautiful murals painted on the walls. We found ourselves receiving several small lessons in Elf history and legend as Elrohir explained each one. The children -- still quite full of energy despite a day of walking out-of-doors -- would run ahead as soon as each lesson was finished, searching for the next piece to be explained. 

“Look, look!” I heard Goldilocks exclaim from ahead of us, and then there was the scrabble of hobbit feet.

“Come see, Father!” Faramir called back. “It’s Queen Arwen!”

“It is?” I said in surprise, for everything we had passed thus far was of heroes past. Approaching the children, I saw a mural of an Elf maiden, dancing in a golden wood. Her long dark hair was so black it shone like ebony and her skin was the fairest I had ever beheld, in person or in painting. 

“It is not Arwen, but Lúthien Tinúviel, the Nightingale of Doriath,” Elrohir said as he came up behind us. “The fairest of all beings, and the sunrise of our race. We are descended from her, and Arwen is the sunset.”

“Did she go into the West?” Faramir said. “Did she leave Middle-earth forever?”

“Indeed, no,” Elrohir said, looking thoughtfully at the painting. “Lúthien fell in love with a mortal, Beren. They faced many dangers together, and succeeded at many tasks thought impossible. So great was their love that Lúthien persuaded the Valar themselves to allow her to live a mortal life, that she might never be parted from him.”

“She died?” Hamfast asked, crinkling his brow. “Just like an ordinary person?” He looked wistfully at the painting. “She seems too beautiful for that.”

“But that is what happened,” Elrohir said. “She is lost to us, and shares whatever fate greets mortals when they leave this world. What that is, none I know can say. But never will she come to the Undying Lands.”

A choice she was not alone in, I thought, watching Elrohir’s face. It was both sad and awed. 

“But who would choose that?” Faramir asked, scowling with intensity. “Who would choose to leave behind those they love and die, when they could stay forever?”

Elrohir turned from the mural and bent down to look Faramir in the eyes. “Who would choose to stay while the one they love more than all others leaves this world behind?” he responded. “Death comes to all you mortals, in a way we First Born do not understand. It may be that you have ahead of you a joy even greater than that known in Valinor. Whatever you face, do you think it wrong that Lúthien would choose to not let Beren face it without her at his side?”

“Well, I don’t -- that is -- that’s not what I meant,” Faramir said. “I just think that if I had the choice between living forever and dying, I’d pick living forever.”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. “Would you?” he asked. “You would choose to watch everyone around you grow old and die? All those that you love? And then to watch their children, and grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, grow old and die?” He straightened and looked down imperiously at my son, who suddenly seemed very small. “You should think long and hard, Faramir, before saying such things. Our fates are what they are, for reasons known not to us, and it is a grave choice indeed to choose a path not intended for us.”

Faramir flushed. “Yes, sir,” he said, and Elrohir smiled kindly. 

“I do not scold,” he said, “merely ask that you think on your words. After you have done so, we may speak of this again. Now,” he crisply clapped his hands together, “I believe we have tea waiting if we ever arrive at it. Your father’s stomach is grumbling.”

“’Tis not,” I said, even as my belly let out a low growl, making the children laugh.

“Mummie says Mr. Pippin eats like a Gamgee,” Hamfast said, and I bowed to him.

“I defer, as always, to Rose-Mum’s wisdom,” I said. “Now come along, before I am forced to eat one of you for my tea.” Another rumble from my stomach sent them running as they laughed.

“I believe you can do that on demand,” Elrohir said dryly as we followed at a more dignified pace.

“That would be a great skill,” I said casually. “I believe you are learning to eat like a Gamgee.”

“Valar forbid,” he answered mildly. “Rivendell has not the supplies for that.”

***

That evening, Faramir bounded onto my bed as I lounged on it, reading, and helped himself to a handful of roasted nuts. Sitting back on his heels, he looked over my shoulder at the map of Middle-earth in the First Age.

“I swear I remember putting you to bed,” I said.

“Elrohir sounds as if he misses Lúthien, though I asked Elladan and he said they are not old enough to have ever met her,” Faramir said. “Can you miss someone you’ve never met, Father?”

“I suppose you can miss the chance at having known them,” I said.

Faramir stuffed more nuts in his mouth, and then fanned at it with his hands when he found them too hot. “That is what Queen Arwen has chosen, isn’t it, Father, to stay here with King Elessar and someday die, just like Lúthien did? I didn’t think about that while Elrohir was talking, but it’s the same, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I said, and I was sad, suddenly, to think of the Evenstar someday fading. Faramir flopped onto his stomach and pressed into my side.

“That is very sad,” he said, “but I can see how it might have been more awful for her to have to live forever and ever without the King.”

I stroked his curls before placing a kiss on them. “Sometimes life is very sad, no matter what choice we make,” I said.

As if reading my thoughts, Faramir said, “It is rather like what Cousin Frodo had to decide, isn’t it, Father? So that he could be happy again, he had to leave everyone he loved behind and never see them again.”

“It is rather like that,” I said, putting an arm around the lad. “But not even the Elves know what happens to us hobbits after we die, so perhaps we shall see Cousin Frodo again someday, outside of this world.”

“But not in it,” Faramir said, fiddling with the edges of my book. “He shall never come back here, and it makes me very sad for him, that he will not see any of us again.”

I put my cheek on top of Faramir’s head and took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Perhaps he will,” I said. “There is one Ring-bearer left in Middle-earth, you know, and maybe someday his time will come. But the rest of us are quite left behind, aren’t we?”

“I think I miss Cousin Frodo, even though I have never met him,” Faramir said, and his voice trembled.

“I miss him every day,” I said, “and now I shall miss Briony every day as well. But I would not have asked Frodo to stay in agony, nor would I have asked Briony to live forever and ever, just so I would not have to be without her. It would be a wretched thing to ask of a hobbit, don’t you think?”

I think he did agree, but he was already crying fit to break my heart, so I cried with him for a bit, and then we did a poor job of mopping our faces with the edge of the sheet and I got us a mug of tea to share from what was left warm by the hearth, and we snuggled underneath the covers in the tall bed.

“I suppose,” Faramir said, sipping at the tea and then handing it over to me, “that if we miss someone who’s gone because we knew them so well and if we miss someone who’s gone who we never even knew at all that there’s just no way out of it.” Then he heaved a great sigh of resignation.

“Certainly there is,” I said, sipping at the tea in turn. “We can not know anyone at all.”

“No fun in that,” Faramir said, giving one more wipe at his eyes with his nightshirt sleeve. 

“Not a bit of fun,” I agreed, and handed him back the tea. “But eventually the sad goes with the fun, more likely than not.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Faramir said, and yawned widely. I took the mug from his hands.

“Well, do,” I said, setting the tea aside and then blowing out the bedside lamp. “Think on that and tell me what you think. Only later, for I am old and tired.”

“You are old, Father,” Faramir said, but then he was asleep before I could retort.

***

He was up before me, though, and nearly before the sun. I found him on the porch outside my room, standing on the bottom rung of the rail while leaning his midsection and hands against the top rail. He turned his head when I came outside.

“You are so old and tired you didn’t even notice me getting up,” Faramir said, and shook his head sadly. “We shall have to have a special cart for old hobbits to get you back to the Shire.”

“I am going to tell Cousin Merry you have said all these things, and then remind him that they reflect poorly on his age, as well, seeing as how he is so very, very much older than I,” I mused, wandering over to him with my hands in my pockets. The valley lay spread out below us, and from the edges of the mountains, the sun peered at us shyly. It was beautiful, and something stirred in me, something that wanted to hear silver trumpets at dawn and see the day’s first light reflect off white towers.

“What are you plotting for the day?” I asked Faramir, still looking toward the mountains.

“Fun,” he answered, and when I turned to look at him, he lifted his hands off the rail and extended them, as if he could take the whole world in with them. “All the fun there is to have, and the sad along with it.” 

Then he smiled, large and bright and brave and joyous, and ready to embrace the world.


End file.
